


Disposition

by ladyofrosefire



Series: Disclosure- Critical Role fics [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/M, Fantasizing, Masturbation, Percy is a pile of untreated issues in a nice coat, Scars, torture mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-23 06:11:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11983821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyofrosefire/pseuds/ladyofrosefire
Summary: Pre-stream, but post falling in love with Vex, Percy's imagination runs away with him. He mostly allows it.





	Disposition

He can still feel her fingers at his collar when he makes it to his room. _His_ room, he thinks erroneously, because her _brother_ will be upstairs and in it as well in a matter of-- well, he doesn’t really know. Grog and Scanlan will be spending the night at the nearest brothel, so he doesn’t have to worry about them, thank Pelor. Pike is downstairs drinking still, and her room is down the hall. Keyleth is probably tucked in for the night. Vax could be doing Gods-know-what with Gods-know-who for Gods-know-how-long.

Which leaves her.

 _Vex’ahlia_.

She had perched on the stool beside his at the bar, leaning into him. A drink in one hand, the others teasing at the silk knotted around his throat. He’d worked _hard_ to bring these things together. The particular Whitestone blue of his coat, the familiar, soft lavender, all the other little details. There was no pretending the silk hadn’t been an extravagance, one he had regretted on a few occasions since purchasing it. That moment had not been one of those times, for all it-- complicated things.

Her clever fingers, callused from the bow string and a life of fending for herself, had traced the carefully wrapped knot all the way down to where he’d tucked it in precise folds beneath his vest. He’d been able to feel the pressure of them against his throat.

Percy’s fingers retrace that pattern now.

“Why don’t you take this off?” She’d asked, and he had nearly choked on his drink. He’d held the substandard ale in his mouth, instead, and blinked dumbly at her. Vex had seemingly taken his silence for incomprehension, because she had continued. “It’s not that it doesn’t suit you, darling, but you look a little warm. Come to think of it, have any of us ever seen you without all your layers?” She had plucked, then, at the lapel of his coat, and he had swallowed harder than he had meant to.

“I assure you, I’m quite alright.”

He really hadn’t meant to make it sound like rejection. But here he is. In the room she had bargained for. Alone, at least for the time being. And not for the reason he wants--

Percy yanks the knot apart, but stops short of jamming easily-wrinkled silk into his pocket. He holds onto it until he’s pulled off his coat. That goes over the back of a chair. The cravat next, and then his vest, carefully re-buttoned before he puts it down.

No matter how hard he tries, he cannot get the image of her out of his head. She’d be-- sitting on the narrow bed, maybe. Legs crossed, one foot swinging back and forth as she watched him with a raised brow and a quirk of those beautiful lips.

Percy closes his eyes tightly. It does not help, of course, so he tries to focus on undoing all the buckles on his boots and stowing them somewhere out of the way.

It does occur to him that there is one very easy way to stop himself thinking like this right here and now, one way that could very well walk through the door any moment, whether Percy locks it or not. If he were to so much as think the man’s name, likely the whole fantasy would disappear into a puff of smoke. Apparently he is feeling a little selfish.

He undoes his belt and holster next. The Pepperbox goes on the little table, closer to his bed, where he will be able to get at it if necessary, but will not be able to accidentally roll onto it during the night and accidentally shoot himself in the head. Paranoia was only paranoia, after all, if one was certain to be wrong.

For all that his hands had been sure storing the gun, they hold the faintest of tremors as he reaches for the button at his collar. _She’s only here in your head_ , he reminds himself, and steadies them. It is-- alright for the first few buttons. Then the little tremble comes back and refuses to leave. And oh, it is so very easy to imagine her looking up at him with those warm brown eyes, dark as forest pools. To imagine her reaching up and taking his hands in hers. Steadying him, or undoing the buttons herself. Perhaps stretching up onto her toes to kiss him. And of course he would bend to meet her. Because while he could say no, he doubts that he would ever want to.

And then what? What would happen when his shirt fell open, as it has, and she helped him out of it. She wouldn’t fold it neatly, the way he does now. She would want to touch him as soon as possible, just as he wants to touch _her_ . And _why_ hasn’t he focused on imagining helping her out of her armor, first? He tries, now, but it is just a moment too late. He can already clearly see the look of horror on her face when she takes in the scars that crisscrossed his skin. And then worse, the pity. She would try to hide it, of course, because she is  _Vex_. But he knows her well enough now that he isn’t sure he’d believe her lie.

With a grimace, he strips off his trousers and drops them onto the seat of the chair. He rakes his hands back through his hair as he took the step and a half to the narrow bed. It helps, somewhat. And regardless of imaged Vex’s imaged expression, he still wants in a way that’s hot and pounding and threatens to consume him in the way only one other thing really has in the past handful of years.

Percy screws his eyes shut.

It’s alright, he tells himself, because he will not let this near her. He can imagine her now, and it’s self-indulgent, he knows. He lets the Vex in his imagination kiss the first few scars. The ones like tally marks on his right arm, seven of them. The burn mark on his left pectoral. The collection of silvery circles on his side. Then he lets himself imagine wrapping his fingers into her thick, dark hair and pulling her up to catch her mouth. She clutches at his shoulders, brackets his hips with her thighs. He’s rushing, so her armor is off, but if he doesn’t keep hold of this, it will all spin apart, and the image behind his eyes is so very enticing.

Vex laughing as he pulls her beneath him and pretending to be startled. Vex sighing and covering his hand with hers as it cups the curve of her breast. Vex chanting his name as he makes her shake apart with his mouth between her thighs.

Her in his lap, in his arms, moving slow and close and her gaze soft on his.

 

It will remain in his imagination.

 

Percy catches his breath. It doesn’t take long, although he still has to force his unwilling body back out of the bed and over to the pitcher. No bath unless they pay for it, of course, but a basin, pitcher, and cloths will do. He scrubs himself off thoroughly, hissing through his teeth at the too-cold water and the hyper-sensitivity of his own skin. He ignores it, too, as he pulls on the soft, high-necked pajamas he considers a necessity rather than a luxury, so long as they share rooms in inns. Only when he is sure that he has erased every sign of what he has done does he allow himself to return to bed.

Percy pulls up the sheet, checks to make sure the Pepperbox is within reach, and does his best to go to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, not what I meant to contribute to the fandom. But it's what I wound up writing. Also please don't think I agree with all of Percy's attitudes in this. He's allowed! To want! Nice! Things! For! Himself! He deserves them!  
> Anyway I'm glad he and Vex are married now and they're helping one another with their self-esteem and other issues.


End file.
